


The Way That I Want You

by theonlytraveler



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytraveler/pseuds/theonlytraveler
Summary: Eddie hates the driver business.  Richie helps him feel better.





	The Way That I Want You

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another one that is already on my tumblr. Again, posting in case my tumblr account decides to lock me out or something stupid like that.

It’s just past eight on a Thursday night and the streets are mostly lonely, maybe due to the rain, or the exhaustion of another long, dreadful workweek crawling to an end.  There are trashcans out by the curb of each house, standing still and ordinary, an unwanted reminder of responsibilities and bills and the forever mind-numbing life that the people who have “made it” lead.  Jobs that no one wants, careers that have no spark or purpose, forever chained to the anchor of adulthood and forced to put up and shut up, or fail.   

Eddie isn’t really seeing the asphalt in the light of his low beams, or the gate that rolls open as he pulls up and presses a button hooked to the sun visor.  No, he’s too busy thinking, dreaming,  _longing_  for a change that feels so out of reach.  He’s got a home, a growing business of his own, stability, warm arms to come home to every night- yet he’s still so damn  _sad_.  It makes no sense; how much more does he need to feel accomplished?   

Thank god it’s Thursday, though.  One more day, Eddie tells himself, as he pulls into his driveway and turns the ignition off.  One more day and then he can enjoy some much needed time with the one person he wants to be with the most.  He keeps this thought in mind as he heads inside, ducking under the downpour while holding his keys tightly in his hand.   

Eddie slips his uncomfortable dress shoes off once he’s got the door shut, and he lets the stress roll off his shoulders with the warmth inside his home.  The lights in the sitting room are dim, just how he likes them, and the scent of one of his favorite dishes hits his nose as he drops down onto the couch, sitting back to place his head against the arm rest.  He can hear Richie in the kitchen, singing what sounds like a song from “Mulan”, and Eddie calls out to him, smiling when Richie appears in the doorway a few moments later.   

“ _My love has returned from his journey west_ ,” Richie proclaims, in one of his old, ridiculous voices that drew Eddie to him when they were children.  He’s wearing a green, unbuttoned shirt over a black tee, his dark curls growing out and touching his shoulders, and he must be wearing his contacts, because his glasses are no where to be seen.  His voice returns to normal as he steps over to the couch.  “You’re home so late."    

Eddie pulls his cell phone and wallet out of his pockets, tossing them down on the coffee table as Richie taps his legs to get him to move them.  "I know, I"m sorry,” Eddie says sincerely, sighing when Richie plops down and starts to rub the tight muscles in his calves.  “I had a bunch of paperwork to deal with."     

"It’s fine.  I got home late, too."  Richie’s fingers dig into a particularly tense spot, and Eddie’s knee jerks slightly as the pressure unwinds.  "Long day."   

Eddie inhales the smell of cheese and garlic, his stomach rumbling as he reaches out to touch one of Richie’s curls.  "What happened?"   

Richie is a vet assistant, and he always comes home with fur stuck to his shirts, scratches and bruises on his arms and legs, but never without a smile.  It’s the perfect job for him, and Eddie can’t help but envy just how happy Richie is doing something he truly enjoys.  He loves hearing about Richie’s days, and all the dogs that Richie is constantly falling in love with.  A dog is probably in their future, but Eddie wants to wait until they have a big back yard, and it’s just not possible in this neighborhood.  They basically have a patch of grass right outside their back door; not ideal for the kind of dog Richie dreams of having.   

Eddie listens as Richie tells him about a rottweiler with a broken leg, and Richie gets so animated when he talks about it, just like he does with everything else he loves.  While Eddie adores this joyful, passionate Richie, it always serves to remind him of how damn much he hates his own career choice, if you can call it that.  There’s this strange, falling sensation that always runs from his chest down to his stomach, and it’s sharp, like jealousy, and Richie always sees it in his expression, somehow.   

"How was your day?"  Richie’s voice is soothing, his arms reaching out and pulling Eddie up and closer to him.  Eddie goes with the movement, scooting down and settling across Richie’s lap, his head on Richie’s shoulder, a position that he’ll never get tired of.  They’ve been together for almost a decade, and this is how Richie comforted him the day he ran away from home, when he was sixteen and his mother tried to force him to go to some church camp to cure his sexuality.  This is how Eddie always seeks out Richie’s warmth and love.     

"Normal, I guess,” he answers, his voice tinged with bitterness, but the sting is softened by the nails scratching over the nape of his neck.  He melts with the feeling, nosing Richie’s ear and placing a quick peck against his hair.  “I wanted to jump in front of one of the cars by the end of the day."   

Eddie means for it to come off casually, but even he can hear the misery in his own voice, so he’s not surprised when Richie turns to look him in the eyes, saying, "Was it all assholes today?"   

Nodding, Eddie leans his forehead against Richie’s and shuts his eyes, willing the negativity to leave him alone for the night so he can enjoy this time with Richie.  They both get so busy that they don’t always have time to be like this in the evenings, or even on the weekends, when they  _should_  be free.  "Dicks.  All day.  One guy was mad because he gave my driver the wrong address, and he was trying to get to his mistress's house."   

Richie’s breath puffs over his chin with a chuckle.  "Man, rich fucking assholes.  Why the fuck are they cheating?  How can you do that?"   

Eddie has no idea; he can’t imagine sharing himself with anyone else.  Richie was his first everything.  His first kiss at sixteen, his first love at seventeen, his first lover at eighteen, and they’ve built their lives around each other so entirely that even the thought of anyone else being involved makes his stomach turn.  "I don’t know.  I just don’t want to listen to that stupid bullshit anymore."  

Every day it’s getting harder and harder to force himself to get out of bed, just to go chauffeur family-money heirs from one brunch to the next, vacation homes, five-star hotels, to the homes of their second families and private parties.  He’s not made to put up with pretentious morons, and it’s wearing him out to the point that he’s twenty seven years old and he feels like he might as well be in his sixties, on the verge of retirement and death.   

The clock on the wall starts to chime, a melody that Eddie knows all too well from multiple evenings spent right in this very spot, on his stupid, incredibly annoying cellular phone, handling customer complaints and unsatisfied guests that have issues with his drivers, the cars, or even the the amount of travel time.  He loves that clock, but it’s tinged with resentment; how many of those nights could he have been spending with Richie?  How many of those nights would have been spent some place else, maybe on a vacation, if he wasn’t so busy working all the damn time? 

Richie kisses his cheek, then his jaw, lips trailing back and close to his ear.  "I think you should go back to school,” he says quietly, and it’s like Richie is sitting shotgun right along his train of thought, seeing everything inside his head.  

It’s one of the reasons why Eddie fell in love with him in the first place.  No one has ever understood him the way Richie does.  “But I have the company,” he says, moving to wrap his arms around Richie’s neck, tipping his head to the side as he feels the wet press of Richie’s tongue against his skin.  “I can’t just shut it down."  

"Fuck the company."  Richie’s voice is slightly muffled, and his teeth nip at Eddie’s pulse point, making Eddie shiver as his skin grows warm.  "Sell it."  

Eddie’s thought about it multiple times, but it always make his chest feel tight and his mind spin with the risk, and he usually shoves the idea away.  Right now, he allows himself to consider it.  "No one’s gonna buy it…" 

"How do you know that?"   

"I don’t know."  Eddie glances down between them, and he picks at the neckline of Richie’s shirt, his thumb grazing pale skin and the soft hairs just under the fabric.  "It’s not like it’s worth anything- I’d definitely lose money."   

"So we lose some money,” Richie says, and he takes Eddie’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking into his eyes.  “That doesn’t matter.  You’re fucking miserable.  I can’t stand seeing you come home stressed every damn night.  If selling the company is what you need to do, then we’ll struggle for a bit, but so what?"  Leaning in, Richie gives him a quick, soft kiss, and he doesn’t move far when he pulls away, their breath mingling in the few inches between them.  "I want you to be  _happy_."   

Eddie stares into Richie’s eyes, his stomach flipping over itself, just like it used to when he first realized that he had strong feelings for his lanky, idiot friend.  There is no one out there like Richie, no one else who can put up with all his bullshit.  They would be fine- they always have been.  From defying their close-minded small town to be together, to moving away and starting out broke, forced to rent a room in a house full of drug addicted college students who partied more than studied, and all the way to Queens, where they have built a home and despite Eddie’s troubles with his business, are happy.   

Smiling, Eddie leans in, planting a sweet, lingering kiss on Richie’s lips, and he feels Richie’s mouth curve against his, and Richie’s arms go around his waist.  He doesn’t want to think about this anymore, all he wants is to feel and taste Richie’s skin.  Pulling back, he teases, "Maybe I should be a stripper."   

Richie throws his head back and laughs, and Eddie moves in, placing biting little kisses over the length of his throat.  Richie’s laughter is choked off with a hitch in his breath, and Richie’s fingers tighten over Eddie’s shirt, one hand dipping between Eddie’s legs to touch him gently.     

” _Eds_ ,“ Richie’s voice is low, a needy whine curling the edges.  "You’d make a  _great_  stripper."   

Eddie hums, and he pulls away from a mark he’s working on over Richie's collarbone.  "You’d love it too much."      

"Fuck  _yeah_ , I would."  Richie’s throat bobs under Eddie’s mouth, a groan slipping out of him that makes Eddie smirk and grind his ass down over Richie’s lap.  ” _F-Fuck_.“   

They end up sprawled out over the couch, Eddie’s shoulders pinned to the arm rest as Richie settles between his legs and thrusts his tongue deep into Eddie’s mouth.  He  _loves_  kissing Richie like this, loves the slick sounds and the heat, and the way his skin burns to life as they press and grind.   Richie’s wide palms wander over his body, groping his thighs, and his hips, holding him in place to rock down against him.  Eddie rolls his hips up, and the dry friction isn’t what he wants exactly, but it’s good.  It’s relieving.  He wants to feel Richie inside his body, feel their skin slide together, their hips locked, the deep, pounding pleasure of Richie fucking into him  _just_  right-  

Eddie growls and tugs at Richie’s shirt, need flaring through him so suddenly it makes him feel a little dizzy.  He wants more right  _now_ \- this high school, back-seat-of-Richie’s-car bullshit isn’t cutting it.  He needs to feel more skin, more heat, more sweat and touch and- just more of  _Richie_.  And Richie must sense what he wants, because he sits back and starts on Eddie’s belt, getting past that first barrier with the ease of familiarity, his fingertips pushing Eddie’s buttoned shirt up to reveal his stomach.  Richie drapes himself over Eddie’s lower half, and he drags his lips over Eddie’s skin, teeth grazing flesh as goose pimples erupt up and down Eddie’s arms.  Eddie grinds up, a sound of pure frustration leaving him as he rubs himself  _hard_  against Richie’s chest, but it’s not enough.     

Just as Richie’s kisses move lower, and he starts sucking hard just under Eddie’s hipbone- and  _god_ , Eddie fucking  _loves_  that- a loud, chiming melody hits his eardrums, bringing the  _need-sex-now_  fire growing between his thighs to a sudden halt.  He turns to see his damn cell phone lighting up, vibrating across the glass table as the ringtone for his fucking  _mother_  plays cheerily.   

"God fucking  _dammit_ ,” Eddie moans, and he’s considering not answering it, because  _fuck_ , he and Richie haven’t had time for sex all week and he’s ready to do it right here on the damn couch if he has to.   

“Just let it go,” Richie breathes against him, lips dragging down over his clothed cock, making Eddie hiss and his hips jerk.  Richie chuckles, says, “Fuck, you’re so  _wet_  already."   

Eddie shakes a bit of the lust-fog away, reaches for his phone, and puts a ridiculous amount of effort into keeping his voice as steady as possible.  If he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll just keep calling until he does.  "Hi, mom."   

"Oh, good to know you’re alive, dear.  Haven’t heard from you all week.  You can’t pick up the phone and call your mother, can you?"  He squeezes his eyes shut; so it’s criticism without beating around the bush for tonight.  "For all I know you could be dead in one of those trashy, New York back streets."   

"Sorry, mom, I meant to call-” Eddie covers his mouth with his palm, smothering what would have been a sound he  _never_  wants his mother to hear.  Richie pulls him out of his underwear, fingers closing around him in a loose circle, stroking slow and dry.  He should probably tell him to stop, but there’s no way he can open his mouth to say a word right now.   

“You always say that, but do I hear from you?  Of  _course_  not.  Too busy with your  _partner_  all the time to pay any attention to your own mother."   

Eddie swallows, removes his palm, and tries to apologize, but his voice comes out strained.  ” _Sorry, mom_.“   

"Sorry doesn’t fix that you moved away and never come and see me, Eddie-bear."   

She goes off on a rant, and Eddie gazes down at Richie, at his sly smile, his full lips, his long fingers as they squeeze him gently, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up his spine.  There’s something incredibly erotic about this- he hasn’t had to keep quiet in years, not since they moved into this house, and he’s forgotten how much of a thrill he gets out of nearly being caught.  Back in high school, when he was forced to go back home during senior year, it was a pain to be intimate in his bedroom, but Eddie grew to love the challenge of being as silent as possible.  He remembers the first time Richie touched him under his clothes, all shaking hands and hitching breaths, the inexperience simmering in the air around them, and he broke the skin of his lip open biting down so hard as Richie worked him to his first orgasm.  After that, there were always bite marks over Richie’s shoulders, a perfect match for the scratches Eddie would leave on his back.  He had to keep quiet somehow, and leaving dark, painful-looking bruises all over Richie’s neck raised too many questions, especially when they were still stuck in their hometown.    

As he thinks of this, he can’t even hear what his mother is saying anymore, but he keeps his mouth shut, bites down on his bottom lip.  He looks down, at Richie’s raised brow, and his legs tense a little more when he nods and Richie lowers his mouth on to him; that old rush comes back with a vengeance.  He can feel himself grow harder at the touch of Richie’s tongue, and it’s the oddest combination of nostalgia and pleasure, but it feels so damn good that he’s afraid he’s too out of practice to smother the noises threatening to burst from him.    

Eddie’s head drops back, and he sinks into the fabric beneath him, his mouth falling open to let out what he knows is going to be a loud noise- but he remembers himself, and slaps his palm over his lips again, biting down on the heel of his hand as Richie’s tongue works over him, over and over and  _over_  and  _god damn_.  He doesn’t usually care much for this, not when Richie is so damn good at licking him open instead, but there’s something intense about this, and he’s losing himself to the heat, to the way his skin is yearning for more and his mouth wants to voice the need, wants to beg and  _demand_.  And Richie is so amazing at this, so attentive and thorough, and Eddie starts to shake embarrassingly quick, and he knows he’s going to come, can feel it swell between his thighs and rush through his limbs, and he’s almost there- so close- so damn  _close_ - 

But Richie pulls off of him, and all the pressure built up falls away so suddenly that Eddie growls, ” _FUCK_ -“ and grabs a handful of the couch.  His nails dig in as he opens his eyes and glares down at Richie’s wide, cheeky smile.  The  _bastard_ \- he did it on purpose, to try and make Eddie crack- 

"Eddie?   _Eddie_?!  Why are you using that language?  I don’t think it’s necessary!"   

Without looking away from Richie, Eddie waits until his breathing evens out a bit before he answers.  Once he’s sure his voice won’t betray him, he says, "I gotta go, mom,” and he hits the end button, tossing the damn phone back down on the table.   

“You’re fucking horrible at staying quiet,” Richie chuckles, lowering his lips again and mouthing at the head.  “You used to be so good at it."   

Eddie sucks in a breath, groans, "Fucking  _shut up_  and do it."   

"Do what, my love?"   

A sigh escapes him, and he feels frustration build in his skin.  ” _Rich_ ,“ he grits out, his hands tightening in the cushions.  "Come  _on_ , don’t fuck around."   

A little smirk plays over Richie’s lips as he sits back and yanks Eddie’s slacks and underwear off, struggling with one of the legs for a moment before Eddie’s foot comes free.  "I’ve got you,” Richie says softly, and he lowers himself on his elbows, diving back in with an affectionate smile that warms Eddie’s heart.   

Richie’s wonderful, hot mouth takes him in again, and Eddie lets it wash over him, not bothering to hide any noises, or hold back the gasps that slip out of him as Richie moves further down.  Kisses litter the insides of his thighs, teasing at the creases and moving lower and lower, until Richie’s wet breath is close to where he’s dying to feel him most.    

Eddie reaches down, cants his hips up slightly, seizing handfuls of Richie’s hair and dragging his face closer.  He bends his knees, spreading himself open.  “Rich-  _Rich_ , fucking  _please_ -"  

Richie’s voice is low and rough as he speaks against Eddie’s skin  ” _You want my tongue,_ _Eds_?   _Want me to eat you out_?“   

Eddie nods frantically.  Fuck  _yes_  that’s what he wants.  ” _Yeah, yeah_ -  _please, please-“_  

” _God_ , you’re leaking so bad.“  Richie’s hand is on him again, giving him a few slow, quick pulls that make Eddie grunt and look down.  "I’m not sure that’s what you want.  I think you want me to keep doing this." 

And then Eddie moans loud and low as Richie swallows him down again, and it’s so damn good; Richie isn’t taking his time with it- he’s going fast, jerking the base of him with a slick palm as he sucks hard on the head and- it feels so fucking  _amazing_ , and Eddie’s back starts to bow off the cushions, Richie’s arm folding over his pelvis to hold him down, but it’s doing little to stop Eddie from writhing.  He starts to tremble, his legs twitching on either side of Richie’s shoulders, and it surges through him again- he’s going to come- his thighs tense and his toes curl, and he’s so close again, and he  _needs_  to come, he needs to come right fucking  _now_ - 

Richie backs off again, and Eddie is just about ready to fucking  _kill_  him for this.  The tight coil low in his abdomen unwinds slightly as Richie crawls up his body, sucking kisses over his stomach, then his chest.  ” _Fuck, fuck_ ,  _fuck_!  Richie- Richie,  _why_ -“   

Then Richie’s lips are on his again, a desperate edge that Eddie can feel in Richie’s tight grip on his hip, the long fingers fisted in his hair, yanking his head back so their mouths slide perfectly together.  The urgency shakes through Richie’s limbs, and Eddie grabs on to him tightly, moaning low in the back of his throat as Richie pulls back and says against him, "Eds- Eds,  _fuck_ \- fuck my mouth.   _Use my mouth_."    

Eddie blinks a few times, lifts his head, his chest rising and falling as he stares up into Richie’s dark, blown eyes.  Yes, yes,  _yes_.  "You want- want me to-"  Richie kisses him again, sloppy, and wet, and Eddie’s head swims as a fresh wave of lust roars through him.  "Rich-"    

Richie retreats and moves back down, taking Eddie’s hands in his and placing them back on his head.  "Fuck my mouth.  Use it, use my mouth.  Fuck,  _please_  do it."   

God damn, Richie is going to kill him.  ” _Richie_ ,“ he whispers heatedly, curling his fingers into the dark mess of Richie’s hair.  ” _Please_.“   

Wet heat envelopes him again, slow and careful, and his whole body starts to tense at the sudden overwhelming pleasure.  And Eddie thrusts up, feels his cock slide effortlessly, and he loves how this feels; this is one of his favorite things, usually on top of Richie, with his knees planted on either side of his shoulders, sinking down into his mouth over and over and over and  _fuck._  There’s no way he can move to ride Richie’s face right now, so he has to enjoy it this way.  

And as Eddie looks down at him, he sees Richie’s hips grinding hard into the couch, one hand sneaking under his body, and Eddie groans throatily, his hands twitching with the need to touch Richie, to make him feel as good as he feels.  He grabs tighter on to Richie’s curls, hips moving up, up into Richie’s wet, fucking  _amazing_  mouth, and he feels Richie hum around him, his jaw relaxing to allow Eddie to move freely.   

And god he can’t stop thinking of how badly he wants Richie to fuck him, or maybe, maybe  _he_  can fuck Richie-

“Fuck  _yes_ , Eds- you wanna fuck me, don’t you?”  Richie’s voice is completely wrecked, and Eddie realizes he must have said that out loud.  “You wanna be inside me?”  

He  _does_ \- he really does.  They’ve done it only a handful of times, but he remembers them all clearly.  Richie spread out beneath him, his long legs bent at the knee and hooked over Eddie’s hips, and Eddie drives into him, swallowing the whines that escape Richie’s lips each time he hits that wonderful spot deep in his body.  And Richie might never ask for it, might never even say that he enjoys it, but Eddie knows he does.  

He pushes Richie back down, breath catching in his throat as Richie’s mouth works over him quick and messy.  Eddie imagines pounding into him, dragging all sorts of sounds out of those full lips, his smaller hands gripping Richie’s thighs hard, so hard, and he can’t take it, can’t hold back anymore.  His stomach muscles twitch and go tight, tight as they flex, and he mindlessly moves, his fingers caught in Richie’s tangled curls and his shoulders hunching in- and he hears Richie moan, Richie say again, “ _Fuck, Eds, I want you to fuck me_ -” and he can’t- he can’t take any more-

His eyes squeeze shut as his body goes taught, and Eddie groans Richie’s name, his cock twitching as he comes so fucking hard.  Richie sucks down everything he has, and he’s always thought it was a little gross, but he couldn’t care less right now, wants to get his mouth on Richie, too, so he can come just as hard as he is.  A last spasm shoots through his pelvis, and Eddie sighs when his body finally starts to come down, and he can hear Richie gasping, their breaths almost in perfect sync.  

Glancing down, he sees Richie’s head pillowed over his stomach, and he’s still breathing hard, damp breath blowing over Eddie’s navel.  It tickles slightly, and he smiles, reaching down to tug at Richie’s shirt, a silent request for him to move.  

Richie sluggishly crawls up, settling over Eddie heavily as they kiss slow, deep.  The bitter taste of himself usually turns Eddie off instantly, but it doesn’t now.  Right now, he  _really_  likes it.  

“God  _damn_ ,” Richie breathes into his mouth, chuckling as they smile against each other.  “You made me come in my pants.”

Eddie feels his grin widen, and he huffs out a laugh, tugging on one of Richie’s sweaty curls as he pecks a kiss on Richie’s chin.  “You did not.”

“I did, you fucker.”  Richie laughs, snuggling into Eddie’s neck, dropping little kisses all over his skin.  “You can’t just say you wanna fuck me like that.  I mean, fuck, do you?”  

Nodding, Eddie kisses Richie’s cheek, then his temple, and he smooths his palms down Richie’s back.  “Yeah, I want to.”  

Richie stares down at him, a look of pure amazement lighting up the dark color of his eyes.  “I love you so fucking much.  How did I get so lucky?”  

Eddie wonders the exact same thing.  “I took pity on you, remember?”  

“Hmm, no… I think I remember we were both stupid dumb fucks,” Richie says, sitting back and pulling Eddie up with him.  “And I was an even bigger dumb fuck, but I still kissed you first.”  

Snorting, Eddie leans in close, and he runs his hands down over Richie’s chest.  “That is  _not_ what happened, idiot.”  

They get up after a little longer, cleaning off in the bathroom quickly before they head into the kitchen to finally eat.  Eddie listens as Richie talks about the rottweiler again, and he can’t help but smile.  He’s not going to let his predicament bring him down, not when he has such a wonderful partner at his side, who supports him in every way, who puts up with his mother and with his stress, with his long hours and his bad moods.  No, he’s not going to let himself dwell.  

Eddie goes to sleep that night with a smile, Richie’s arms around his waist, a pile of fresh documents on the nightstand to start selling his business, and he knows that everything is going to be okay.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this garbage.


End file.
